999_ Twenty-Nine Original Tales of Horror and Suspense - Al Sarrantonio [343]
“Tell us who is the person who is communicating,” said Trawley in a husky, low voice. “Who are you? What is your name?”
They waited but the planchette did not move. Freeboard turned to Dare with a knowing and accusatory smile. “Ah-huh!“ she said, nodding her head. Then abruptly she turned her head back to the board as the planchette moved rapidly under their fingers.
Case called off the letters. “A …” he began.
On the next one, Freeboard joined him, chiming in, “Ce.”
Case looked up at her and smiled. Then he leaned back and watched with what looked like satisfaction as the Realtor alone went on calling out the letters:
“Ce … Ee … P …” The planchette hesitated. “T.”
Then the movement ceased.
“’Accept,’” said Dare with a frown. “It spells ‘accept.’”
“So what’s that supposed to mean?” puzzled Freeboard. “ ‘Accept.’ Accept what?”
“Or who?” mentioned Dare.
The planchette was moving again, swinging wildly back and forth between the letters G and O.
“G-O-G-O,” murmured Dare.
Trawley winced and put her head into her hand. It was as if she’d been stricken by a sudden stab of migraine. As she lifted her hand from the plastic planchette, it flew off the board and rattled onto the floor, where after brief motion it at last lay still.
Case put a hand on Trawley’s arm. He looked concerned.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I have to stop. An awful stabbing in my head.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” said Case.
Frowning, Freeboard stared at the Ouija board. “’Go.’ ‘Accept,’” she wondered aloud. “What in shit could that mean?”
“What did you mean it to mean?” Dare said coolly.
“And what the hell does that mean?”
“Oh, well, clearly you were moving it, Joan.”
“Bull-shit!”
“You’re suggesting Mrs. Trawley was moving it? Bizarre!”
Freeboard stood up and strode away from the table.
“I’ve had it, guys. Really. Adios.”
“Where are you going, love?” Dare called after her.
“I don’t know,” she replied. “I don’t care.”
She was headed for the foyer.
“Maybe for a walk,” she called back. “I need air.”
The clacking of her heels on the floor receded. The front door opened and closed. She was gone. Case turned back to Trawley. She had both elbows propped on the table now, her head cradled down into her hands.
“How’s the head?” Case asked with concern.
“Getting better.”
Dare’s glance shifted back and forth between them.
“Are we finished?” he asked stiffly.
“Yes, I think so,” said Case.
Dare stood up and addressed them both. “Let me thank you for these thoroughly exhilarating moments. Never have I felt quite so glad to be alive since Evel Knievel invited me to join him in leaping a chasm in Ulan Bator. You’ll excuse me? I’m finding that I need to make a call.” The author turned on his heel and strode toward the staircase. Case watched his quick footsteps ascending the steps, saw him walk down the hall and disappear into his room.
Case dropped his glance to Trawley.
“Shall I ask Morna to bring you some aspirin?”
Trawley said, “No.” It was barely audible.
“Been a bit of a bust tonight, hasn’t it?” said Case.
Trawley nodded her head. Case thoughtfully appraised her in silence for a time and then he reached out his hand and touched it to her arm.
“Did you move the planchette?” he asked her quietly.
She dropped her arms to the table, lifted her head and stared at him blankly. “What?”
“I mean, unconsciously,” he said to her gently. “Do you think you caused your daughter Bethie’s death? That you’re the murderer?”
Her look was incredulous.
“I really don’t know what to say,” she responded.
“When your daughter Bethie died—” Case began.
But she cut him off.
“I never told you that my daughter’s name was Bethie.”
Head down, hands deep in the pockets of her jeans, Freeboard trudged along the shoreline, lost in thought. There was an aching and a churning deep inside her, a sense of displacement, of loss, of fear, and of an answer that kept